


On the road to redemption

by kurojiri



Series: Tuna AU Challenge [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Guardian Angel Luna Loevgood, Heaven & Hell, Pre-Hogwarts, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 11:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurojiri/pseuds/kurojiri
Summary: Tom was told he couldn't take over the world at age fifth-teen. So, as a means to lessen his sentence and be eligible for parole for a reincarnation rehabilitation cleanse cycle after this lifetime as Tom Riddle, he will be accompanied by his new guardian angel named Luna to see that he fills his quota for good deeds. Wonderful.





	On the road to redemption

**Author's Note:**

> So, funny story. I wanted to write Tom eating a taco but then, I also wanted to write about a supernatural demons and angels Tuna fic too so, this became born. Idk where I will take it. But I had been slowly writing this since January. Anyways! If you want to bribe me with prompts about this AU feel free to jot them down and tell me here, on ffnt (same username) and in tumblr (again, same username!) 
> 
> Happy Reading!

He hadn’t really bothered to consider what actually happened after someone died.

That had been one of the main purposes of him spending so many hours and years into making the horcruxes as he wanted to create and hide away the whole concept of dying; to defy death essentially. Magic had occupied his own belief system too, when he considered his life after Hogwarts. He, who was a half-blood with half his history coming from an old ancestry family and awe, and another that was dirty and unknown (for the wizarding world and himself). Tom Riddle, of course only focused on what he had deemed had been important to remember. Yet, that had been a mistake. He could admit that now quietly.

Not that it could save him, he had done enough damage to damn his soul.  

Demons were real. Angels too. So really, Tom couldn’t help but sigh and want to scream from the echoes from Mrs. Cole’s old warnings about naughty children going to hell. And all those other people calling him a devil’s spawn. They weren’t right; but neither were they wrong all together. Heaven and Hell did exist; and in Tom’s case he really made his name famous in both their circles. At age fifteen no less.  

Apparently, since Tom had always been a troubled boy, who had gone through many guardian angels from the past and now many refused to work with Tom, he had been given a very small list of angels that would probably work with him. It had come from a somewhat new program that heaven wanted to try before the souls were fully judged upon their death. A format that helped troubled souls into early redemption. He didn’t fancy a trip to eternal damnation without parole, so there he was. In the middle of talking to a consultant, who was then promptly made to be the case worker that had his case number.

That hadn’t been how he wanted his Wednesday to go, but he had little rights at the moment. He was now stuck there, having to drink tea that had been too bitter and lukewarm, and with biscuits that had been provided being too sweet for his liking. The office cubicle had been a narrow spot, and messy with many folders stacked impossibly high. From what he had been able to see, his consultant had a horrid scrawny writing, and ink spots on his trousers. He must have been new since he had a terrible posture as he kept checking over his work. Tom could have used him, but with his magic being temporarily taken away from him during his appointment he couldn’t really afford any more tallies for bad behavior. Too bad, it could have been interesting to have an informative inside heaven.   

The morning had been stuffy with numerous angels roaming, working and settling with recently deceased souls. Tom had been somewhat grateful that the deceased were cleaned up. There had not been any hints of what got them, if Tom blinked and forget what he was doing, he could have assumed that he was still back on earth. Where his soul was not in jeopardy. And that he had not been stopped mid-work.    

Myrtle's ghost had been the last straw for his last guardian angel, he had called in headquarters about Tom’s evil scheme. Had paused the ritual for him creating his first horcrux, and had called in Death right away. (Tom still couldn’t really believe that he had met the actual figure, Death.) It hadn’t been one of his greatest moments. His magic had been mostly drained from the ritual, and whatever he had left had been buried deeper inside his core when they coaxed Myrtle’s ghost closer for an interview. His clothes had been dirty from the water that had been leaking from the bathroom and the Chamber of Secrets. Hence, why his hair was limping too from the sweat dripping from his brow.

The basilisk had been freed too in the midst when he thought he could take on a glowing bloke with wings. He blamed it on the low blood pressure when he still had his wand then. Tom had pointed the wand to his guardian angel (which he didn’t know was a thing then) and had cursed him. It didn’t hit him; it flew past the body and when Death came forward Tom’s magic just knew who he was. Yes, the black menacing cloak and skeleton body said it all, but it had been the very essence of pure magic that radiated from him, that made his knees buckle down. The showdown didn’t last at all.

(And it couldn’t have been called one either because it had been a rather pathetic show of a mortal trying to fight the literal manifestation of death and an angel that had sneaked behind him as he bound Tom's magic away for that misunderstanding—quarrel, depending on whom you asked to cease as they went along with protocol to judge his mortal sins and ultimately give him a sentence for his crimes against humanity.)

Tom could only remember how scared he had been. That the glowing man, who could have been a veela (if men were capable of carrying that gene), and a dementor god had caged him so quickly. They subdued his magic, had made Tom want for his body to melt from its foundations. He had been a mess. And it had been the first steps for Tom to understand that he was a weak mortal. Even with magic, he couldn’t go against certain things, and beings; such as Death and his cosmic intervention of life and death.    

Hence: Heaven, Hell and Purgatory.  

Tom Riddle’s own life now rested on the angel that had been making calls, writing thousands of letters and codes since his arrival. It had been nerve-wracking. With half his cuppa down, he wanted to open his mouth. But with another chain of angels coming and leaving, their wings had brushed to the back of his chair. Their own magic had been too pure. Too powerful that it had suffocated him on few occasions. It almost seemed like their magic knew instinctively of Tom’s corrupted soul, because each time they came closer to brush his back, it burned him. Some were kinder about it with their apologies.    

Others, they had irritated Tom that they could brush off his shivers.

He had been about to comment about the lack of space when his case worker finally put down his ink pen (muggle looking, oddly enough). “Tom Marvolo Riddle. Born on the 31st of December in 1926, to the parents of Tom Riddle Sr, a non-magical mortal and Merope Riddle née Gaunt, a child of magic.” Tom nodded, as the angel continued (but he had made sure to remember about finally learning the name of his father). “You were temporarily detained after being caught performing an illegal dark ritual that is punishable to a sentence of eternal damnation without parole for an emergency reincarnation rehabilitation cleanse cycle.”    

Tom had momentarily looked small. He did his best to still his body from the way the man looked at him coolly. It seemed like he was getting the hang of his career as he took in Tom’s visible cracked soul.    

“Is that correct?”   

His lips pursed. “Yes, it is correct.”

His case worker sighed as he put down the folder, he had fiddled with. He took off his glasses before refilling his cuppa. “Now, I understand that your assigned guardian angel had quit their position right after he had taken you to the lower level of Purgatory. Usually when someone like you,” he poked at Tom's file, “and of your background of losing a certain number of guardian angels and has committed a major taboo it would be an easy swipe to hell. However, the head chief had expressed some leniency and wishes to try out a relatively new program for people ( _like you_ ) that could be redeemed.”  

He took a big sip from his cuppa. “Personally, I don’t care about mortals with their constant wars, issues etc.; but I would like to have a simple case once in a while. They don’t warn any of us new guys how hectic the office life can be. So, hear me out Tommy-boy. Please think about what led you here today at my cubicle. And repent. Get a new hobby. And repent some more because honestly lad, your limbo status isn’t that great to be in. I have already called some people that were interested in helping you on your journey to redemption. So, let’s go to the interviewing rooms and get started before lunch break preferably. Although, if you want something to eat, just telling you it's Taco Tuesday.”   

“It's Wednesday.”   

That, and Tom didn’t even know what the arse was a taco. Or why they had them on Tuesdays.    

His case worker shrugged his shoulders. “It’s always Taco Tuesday when Carl from Department of Angel Resources makes them.”

They didn’t say much after that as he was pulled into a futuristic elevator; where once again he was burned by the feathers that tickled his arms and back. It hadn’t been that thrilling making his way towards the interview hallway. The walls were pale white with few portraits. That, and the coffee was all gone. Not that he trusted the angel that had been in charge of it.   

Inside the interview room it had the same dull walls with a wooden table. The chairs were metallic and uncomfortable. Too bare and quiet that it had been awkward for him to sit down with a clock ticking while his case worker had his clipboard and other files ready. The first one that came had been haughty; an arse-kisser. He didn’t last long with the prepared questions and Tom’s own reluctance to speak to him. The second was quieter, with a penchant for small animals; she didn’t like how he killed a couple of furry creatures when he was younger.   

By number seven, his case worker wanted to pull his hair out. Not that it would help them. The other six had all ranged from cocky, bizarre and unwilling to understand. They could be fine with other humans, but when it came to Tom, none of them could mesh with him. Could not see something that Death saw him by giving him a second chance. Tom never had cared about what others thought about him, but when these beings that had some pull at someone’s destiny to the afterlife, he had become somewhat uneasy that he would be stuck with the wrong company.      

Did Tom really want to redeem himself? Not really, but he also didn’t want to end up in hell. And that had been enough motivation for anyone.

As number seven came in, Tom’s own heart soared.    

She was lovely, odd, and for some reason, dangerous. Her silver eyes had been a little cloudy, but he couldn’t stop analyzing in the way she glided into the room; she had been breathtaking. And then she opened her mouth.   

She was completely unorthodox. The way she politely answered the questions left him baffled, and he had been sure his case worker had been too as he jotted some of her answers. For all the beauty she had, she was a loony girl. (He had to make sure he didn’t outwardly gap at her when she looked at him.) He was half convinced that she had been created to ruin him. She had to have been when at the end of the interview he said yes to her.    

His case worker had been speechless, but rapidly worked on approving the contract and other required paperwork. They only had thirty minutes before Carl would ring up the tacos, and he wanted Tom and Luna, his new guardian angel to wait in line for him, so they could get him some tacos. As he had been left to Luna’s care Tom had been uncharacteristically hushed. It all felt rushed. By finding out the afterlife, and having been sentenced into community service until further notice.   

He still couldn’t forget how she gave him a silver and blue bracelet with hidden runes inscribed on it. Her magic had been contained to it, but strangely hers didn’t' burn him. It instead felt like a cool mist softly fanning his skin.   

When he asked about it, she had smiled at him. “It’s a way to talk to me when we go back to earth. Most of the time we angels don’t actively interact with mortals.”   

“So, then, as long as anyone has it on, they can see and communicate with you?”   

Luna’s smile twitched to a more amused chuckle. “Not exactly.” Her hands wrapped around his arm where the bracelet was placed. “This had been made for only you and myself to communicate with. So, while you can talk to me, nobody else can see or interact with me.”    

They made a left turn and got inside the elevator again. He did his best to ignore the stares that they both received, while Luna smiled and waved at a few. He couldn’t blame them for gawking at them.    

They looked so unconventional when they stood side by side. With her loose garments, tangled wavy hair and wings, and Tom in his dull colored trousers and collared shirt without any wrinkles. (He had been grateful that when he entered the afterlife that his clothes had been cleaned up.) Neither looked like they could belong to the same group of associates. By then they stood, with Luna humming to herself, and Tom counting the seconds before the doors would open to the cafeteria.    

It truly had been the strangest Wednesdays he had ever had; but at least he learned and tasted what tacos were. They hadn't been terrible, but too greasy for his likes.

 

* * *

 

 

Back on earth, Tom’s life had quietened down considerably. Dumbledore still didn’t trust him, Myrtle’s ghost now semi haunted him whenever she felt like it; which had been obnoxiously frequent after his classes when he did his best to maintain his grades. (ex-Dark Lord or not, Tom Riddle expected his grades to always be top tier.) And now with his head lowered most Slytherin's left his side, not that he had been hurt or shocked from their actions. He would have done so too if another poor bloke had fucked shite up. His Hogwarts career really became slower. And that had been due to Luna’s insistence of working with his community service.   

She had been his daily reminder of where his life strayed off to. With pressed robes still being a thing, he maintained and grades that shined brighter than the other purebloods that used to follow him. The only difference was now, his façade came with the chains of his fate based on his actions of good deeds. For example, Luna loved the idea of him becoming a professor. He did too when she looked at his file the other day ago. It had included a very small list of interests and goals he had made up years ago. There had been some that had been impossible to achieve as a mortal and others he had forgotten he made when he had been younger and delusional. But being a professor at Hogwarts; Tom had loved it.   

He always had loved Hogwarts and its complicated world. It had been the first tale and home for Tom as it brought him magic, even if it had been Dumbledore that had been that catalyst back then. But now, as he was in a new crossing road, Tom still wanted Hogwarts to be a part of his life in some fashion.

If he couldn’t take over the world, he could at least reshape it. Tom figured that if he could teach the future magical children on how to be adequate casters and problem solvers then it would overall benefit all humanity for the better. Heaven above, would appreciate that with the amount of magical folks that died too early from not being informed enough during their training. (There had been numerous, very chatty angels that had whined about that issue in the elevators for him to remember that bit during his brief time in the afterlife.)  

But before that, he needed to figure what he was willing to do with his life. Meaning, if Tom wanted to stay in Hogwarts, or leave to America for a scholarship and temporary transfer program that they had where he could be made an apprentice and gain a reputable name and work before trying his luck back on graduation back in Europe. It almost seemed like a hard decision. In the end of his fifth year, he had enough professors that wrote outstanding recommendations and approval to enter the program. He gained a temporary residence with a family that would host his stay for his last two remaining years for Ilvermorny, and that had been it. His new road to take with Luna’s light guiding him when he packed up for the last time in the Slytherin dorm room.   

It oddly felt right.  

International portkeys were expensive; but they had been opted to do the job as Tom’s summer had been flagged to end quickly. With a different location, time zone and cycle of when classes started, he had little time to accumulate in Wools or to the people. He had paperwork to finish that included his muggle side affairs to tweak his background during his stay there with a temporary resident status.   

(It had been a relief that he wouldn’t have to worry about Mrs. Cole or the latter staff and children again once he was ready to leave the orphanage for good.)  

With the time constrict it had enabled for Tom to get used to having Luna around him. There had been moments when he just knew when she was close, and others when he had to channel his magic to call her. He tested it out when he walked back and forth his appointments to gain a muggle passport and other documents, he needed for his trip. Since apparently across the pond they wanted Tom to be somewhat well-versed with muggle affairs and teachings to blend with their non-magical sections if he ever ventured out and needed to act without suspicion. Although he still couldn’t really talk to them muggles since the states were more reclusive with muggles with their Rappaport’s Law going on that kept the magical community segregated with the non-magical kind.  

But at least, Tom had been finding their customs and school curriculum to be less dull than he feared. Their extra studies and clubs had been interesting too, as he had shuffled with the pamphlets and booklets that they had given him in the list of supplies that he would need shortly before he would head off to school. Those short days had lifted his mood since it reminded him of the first summer after he learned about his magic and Hogwarts.   

As if, Tom could really begin anew.  

It had helped that it worked when they talked to each other too, it had made Tom’s new goals much easier to accommodate and swallow since his revelations. From her own smiles Tom had acquired a peculiar emotion of satisfaction when he had gathered his remaining items before leaving altogether from his room.    

With the bracelet on he had been able to see her facial expressions when they talked. They had been sharp as they had been fluid like the clouds that roamed in the skies as of late. He didn’t know her well enough, but Tom had studied enough people to get a brief understanding that Luna had comprehended what made Tom click before, and sometimes still did as they walked around the limited orphanage. Old habits, after all, had always been hard to quit right away; but he had been learning to curb some intents with her so close. It had been outstanding for him to see his control he still relented with Luna’s own magic being woven to the bracelet he wore and monitored their connection, he could feel her own intentions, her feelings, and empathy that he did not fully possess or understood yet.  

It all been alien for him. But in a good way, Tom had wanted a challenge. A mindless puzzle to foster room for him to improve himself indulgently.

“Are you ready?”   

He closed his trunk with a soft grunt. Then, lifted it off his bed to smooth over the thin sheet. “Yes, I suppose I am.”  

The first portkey he had used had been very tight, strong and lasted longer than he liked. The trip landed him closer to the edge of where water and land connected. Where the salt in the air touched his skin and Tom almost wanted to crouch from the chilly air that invaded his lungs. It had been a couple of years since that incident, and with Luna’s figure fading from his line of vision he had to make due with by walking dutifully to the port where the ship would take him to America. In six weeks, Tom would have a new life officially. With a temporary home in the summers and winters and in two years' time, Tom Riddle would be an adult.   

Someone that could (and will have to) make a difference in the world; and preferably, from his case worker, Death and Luna’s expenses, with only good deeds.   

As he walked towards the ship Tom allowed himself to be sentimental. Once he had made it to the main deck and found a good place to stand without getting in the way, he took one last glance back at the land. He didn’t have anyone to wave goodbye, but that had been fine for him. And when the image of the land had been long gone, Tom simply went to his assigned room and prepared a small journal entry about the day before getting started on the few materials of homework that he had while he swayed with the waves and idle chatter by the crew and other passengers.

It would end up alright. He may not know how it truly felt to bleed onto faith alone for any new journeys, but that had been why Luna existed. Why they had been paired together.  

They would make it work.

He just had a good feeling about it.

 


End file.
